The geometry examination and all the others were over in due timeand Anne arrived home on Friday evening, rather tired but with anair of chastened triumph about her. Diana was over at Green Gableswhen she arrived and they met as if they had been parted for years.

"You old darling, it's perfectly splendid to see you back again.It seems like an age since you went to town and oh, Anne, how didyou get along?"

"Pretty well, I think, in everything but the geometry. I don'tknow whether I passed in it or not and I have a creepy, crawlypresentiment that I didn't. Oh, how good it is to be back! GreenGables is the dearest, loveliest spot in the world."

"How did the others do?"

"The girls say they know they didn't pass, but I think they didpretty well. Josie says the geometry was so easy a child of tencould do it! Moody Spurgeon still thinks he failed in historyand Charlie says he failed in algebra. But we don't really knowanything about it and won't until the pass list is out. That won'tbe for a fortnight. Fancy living a fortnight in such suspense!I wish I could go to sleep and never wake up until it is over."

Diana knew it would be useless to ask how Gilbert Blythe had fared,so she merely said:

"Oh, you'll pass all right. Don't worry."

"I'd rather not pass at all than not come out pretty well up onthe list," flashed Anne, by which she meant--and Diana knew shemeant--that success would be incomplete and bitter if she did notcome out ahead of Gilbert Blythe.

With this end in view Anne had strained every nerve during theexaminations. So had Gilbert. They had met and passed eachother on the street a dozen times without any sign of recognitionand every time Anne had held her head a little higher and wisheda little more earnestly that she had made friends with Gilbertwhen he asked her, and vowed a little more determinedly tosurpass him in the examination. She knew that all Avonlea juniorwas wondering which would come out first; she even knew thatJimmy Glover and Ned Wright had a bet on the question and thatJosie Pye had said there was no doubt in the world that Gilbertwould be first; and she felt that her humiliation would beunbearable if she failed.

But she had another and nobler motive for wishing to do well.She wanted to "pass high" for the sake of Matthew and Marilla--especially Matthew. Matthew had declared to her his convictionthat she "would beat the whole Island." That, Anne felt,was something it would be foolish to hope for even in thewildest dreams. But she did hope fervently that she would beamong the first ten at least, so that she might see Matthew'skindly brown eyes gleam with pride in her achievement. That, shefelt, would be a sweet reward indeed for all her hard work andpatient grubbing among unimaginative equations and conjugations.

At the end of the fortnight Anne took to "haunting" the postoffice also, in the distracted company of Jane, Ruby, and Josie,opening the Charlottetown dailies with shaking hands and cold,sinkaway feelings as bad as any experienced during the Entranceweek. Charlie and Gilbert were not above doing this too, butMoody Spurgeon stayed resolutely away.

"I haven't got the grit to go there and look at a paper in coldblood," he told Anne. "I'm just going to wait until somebodycomes and tells me suddenly whether I've passed or not."

When three weeks had gone by without the pass list appearing Annebegan to feel that she really couldn't stand the strain much longer.Her appetite failed and her interest in Avonlea doings languished.Mrs. Lynde wanted to know what else you could expect with a Torysuperintendent of education at the head of affairs, and Matthew,noting Anne's paleness and indifference and the lagging steps thatbore her home from the post office every afternoon, began seriouslyto wonder if he hadn't better vote Grit at the next election.

But one evening the news came. Anne was sitting at her open window,for the time forgetful of the woes of examinations and the caresof the world, as she drank in the beauty of the summer dusk,sweet-scented with flower breaths from the garden below and sibilantand rustling from the stir of poplars. The eastern sky above thefirs was flushed faintly pink from the reflection of the west,and Anne was wondering dreamily if the spirit of color lookedlike that, when she saw Diana come flying down through the firs,over the log bridge, and up the slope, with a fluttering newspaperin her hand.

Anne sprang to her feet, knowing at once what that papercontained. The pass list was out! Her head whirled and her heartbeat until it hurt her. She could not move a step. It seemed anhour to her before Diana came rushing along the hall and burstinto the room without even knocking, so great was her excitement.

"Anne, you've passed," she cried, "passed the VERY FIRST--you andGilbert both--you're ties--but your name is first. Oh, I'm so proud!"

Diana flung the paper on the table and herself on Anne's bed,utterly breathless and incapable of further speech. Anne lightedthe lamp, oversetting the match safe and using up half a dozenmatches before her shaking hands could accomplish the task.Then she snatched up the paper. Yes, she had passed--there washer name at the very top of a list of two hundred! That momentwas worth living for.

"You did just splendidly, Anne," puffed Diana, recoveringsufficiently to sit up and speak, for Anne, starry eyed and rapt,had not uttered a word. "Father brought the paper home fromBright River not ten minutes ago--it came out on the afternoontrain, you know, and won't be here till tomorrow by mail--andwhen I saw the pass list I just rushed over like a wild thing.You've all passed, every one of you, Moody Spurgeon and all,although he's conditioned in history. Jane and Ruby did prettywell--they're halfway up--and so did Charlie. Josie just scrapedthrough with three marks to spare, but you'll see she'll put onas many airs as if she'd led. Won't Miss Stacy be delighted?Oh, Anne, what does it feel like to see your name at the head ofa pass list like that? If it were me I know I'd go crazy with joy.I am pretty near crazy as it is, but you're as calm and cool as aspring evening."

"I'm just dazzled inside," said Anne. "I want to say a hundredthings, and I can't find words to say them in. I never dreamedof this--yes, I did too, just once! I let myself think ONCE,`What if I should come out first?' quakingly, you know, for itseemed so vain and presumptuous to think I could lead the Island.Excuse me a minute, Diana. I must run right out to the field totell Matthew. Then we'll go up the road and tell the good newsto the others."

They hurried to the hayfield below the barn where Matthew wascoiling hay, and, as luck would have it, Mrs. Lynde was talkingto Marilla at the lane fence.

"Well now, I always said it," said Matthew, gazing at the passlist delightedly. "I knew you could beat them all easy."

"You've done pretty well, I must say, Anne," said Marilla,trying to hide her extreme pride in Anne from Mrs. Rachel'scritical eye. But that good soul said heartily:

"I just guess she has done well, and far be it from me to bebackward in saying it. You're a credit to your friends, Anne,that's what, and we're all proud of you."

That night Anne, who had wound up the delightful evening with aserious little talk with Mrs. Allan at the manse, knelt sweetlyby her open window in a great sheen of moonshine and murmured aprayer of gratitude and aspiration that came straight from herheart. There was in it thankfulness for the past and reverentpetition for the future; and when she slept on her white pillowher dreams were as fair and bright and beautiful as maidenhoodmight desire.

They were together in the east gable chamber; outside it wasonly twilight--a lovely yellowish-green twilight with a clear-bluecloudless sky. A big round moon, slowly deepening from herpallid luster into burnished silver, hung over the Haunted Wood;the air was full of sweet summer sounds--sleepy birds twittering,freakish breezes, faraway voices and laughter. But in Anne's roomthe blind was drawn and the lamp lighted, for an important toiletwas being made.

The east gable was a very different place from what it had beenon that night four years before, when Anne had felt its barenesspenetrate to the marrow of her spirit with its inhospitable chill.Changes had crept in, Marilla conniving at them resignedly, untilit was as sweet and dainty a nest as a young girl could desire.

The velvet carpet with the pink roses and the pink silk curtainsof Anne's early visions had certainly never materialized; but herdreams had kept pace with her growth, and it is not probable shelamented them. The floor was covered with a pretty matting, andthe curtains that softened the high window and fluttered in thevagrant breezes were of pale-green art muslin. The walls, hungnot with gold and silver brocade tapestry, but with a daintyapple-blossom paper, were adorned with a few good pictures givenAnne by Mrs. Allan. Miss Stacy's photograph occupied the placeof honor, and Anne made a sentimental point of keeping freshflowers on the bracket under it. Tonight a spike of white liliesfaintly perfumed the room like the dream of a fragrance. Therewas no "mahogany furniture," but there was a white-paintedbookcase filled with books, a cushioned wicker rocker, a toilettable befrilled with white muslin, a quaint, gilt-framed mirrorwith chubby pink Cupids and purple grapes painted over its archedtop, that used to hang in the spare room, and a low white bed.

Anne was dressing for a concert at the White Sands Hotel.The guests had got it up in aid of the Charlottetown hospital,and had hunted out all the available amateur talent in thesurrounding districts to help it along. Bertha Sampson andPearl Clay of the White Sands Baptist choir had been asked tosing a duet; Milton Clark of Newbridge was to give a violin solo;Winnie Adella Blair of Carmody was to sing a Scotch ballad; and LauraSpencer of Spencervale and Anne Shirley of Avonlea were to recite.

As Anne would have said at one time, it was "an epoch in her life,"and she was deliciously athrill with the excitement of it.Matthew was in the seventh heaven of gratified pride over thehonor conferred on his Anne and Marilla was not far behind,although she would have died rather than admit it, and said shedidn't think it was very proper for a lot of young folks to begadding over to the hotel without any responsible person with them.

Anne and Diana were to drive over with Jane Andrews and herbrother Billy in their double-seated buggy; and several otherAvonlea girls and boys were going too. There was a party ofvisitors expected out from town, and after the concert a supperwas to be given to the performers.

"Do you really think the organdy will be best?" queried Anne anxiously."I don't think it's as pretty as my blue-flowered muslin--and it certainlyisn't so fashionable."

"But it suits you ever so much better," said Diana. "It's so softand frilly and clinging. The muslin is stiff, and makes you look toodressed up. But the organdy seems as if it grew on you."

Anne sighed and yielded. Diana was beginning to have areputation for notable taste in dressing, and her advice on suchsubjects was much sought after. She was looking very prettyherself on this particular night in a dress of the lovelywild-rose pink, from which Anne was forever debarred; but she wasnot to take any part in the concert, so her appearance was ofminor importance. All her pains were bestowed upon Anne, who,she vowed, must, for the credit of Avonlea, be dressed and combedand adorned to the Queen's taste.

"Pull out that frill a little more--so; here, let me tie yoursash; now for your slippers. I'm going to braid your hair in twothick braids, and tie them halfway up with big white bows--no,don't pull out a single curl over your forehead--just have thesoft part. There is no way you do your hair suits you so well,Anne, and Mrs. Allan says you look like a Madonna when you partit so. I shall fasten this little white house rose just behindyour ear. There was just one on my bush, and I saved it for you."

"Shall I put my pearl beads on?" asked Anne. "Matthew brought me astring from town last week, and I know he'd like to see them on me."

Diana pursed up her lips, put her black head on one sidecritically, and finally pronounced in favor of the beads, whichwere thereupon tied around Anne's slim milk-white throat.

"There's something so stylish about you, Anne," said Diana,with unenvious admiration. "You hold your head with such an air.I suppose it's your figure. I am just a dumpling. I've alwaysbeen afraid of it, and now I know it is so. Well, I suppose Ishall just have to resign myself to it."

"But you have such dimples," said Anne, smiling affectionatelyinto the pretty, vivacious face so near her own. "Lovely dimples,like little dents in cream. I have given up all hope of dimples.My dimple-dream will never come true; but so many of my dreamshave that I mustn't complain. Am I all ready now?"

"All ready," assured Diana, as Marilla appeared in the doorway,a gaunt figure with grayer hair than of yore and no fewer angles,but with a much softer face. "Come right in and look at ourelocutionist, Marilla. Doesn't she look lovely?"

Marilla emitted a sound between a sniff and a grunt.

"She looks neat and proper. I like that way of fixing her hair.But I expect she'll ruin that dress driving over there in the dustand dew with it, and it looks most too thin for these damp nights.Organdy's the most unserviceable stuff in the world anyhow, and Itold Matthew so when he got it. But there is no use in sayinganything to Matthew nowadays. Time was when he would take my advice,but now he just buys things for Anne regardless, and the clerks atCarmody know they can palm anything off on him. Just let them tellhim a thing is pretty and fashionable, and Matthew plunks his moneydown for it. Mind you keep your skirt clear of the wheel, Anne, andput your warm jacket on."

Then Marilla stalked downstairs, thinking proudly how sweet Annelooked, with that

"One moonbeam from the forehead to the crown"

and regretting that she could not go to the concert herself tohear her girl recite.

"I wonder if it IS too damp for my dress," said Anne anxiously.

"Not a bit of it," said Diana, pulling up the window blind."It's a perfect night, and there won't be any dew. Look atthe moonlight."

"I'm so glad my window looks east into the sunrising," said Anne,going over to Diana. "It's so splendid to see the morning comingup over those long hills and glowing through those sharp fir tops.It's new every morning, and I feel as if I washed my very soul inthat bath of earliest sunshine. Oh, Diana, I love this littleroom so dearly. I don't know how I'll get along without it whenI go to town next month."

"Don't speak of your going away tonight," begged Diana. "I don'twant to think of it, it makes me so miserable, and I do want tohave a good time this evening. What are you going to recite, Anne?And are you nervous?"

"Not a bit. I've recited so often in public I don't mind at allnow. I've decided to give `The Maiden's Vow.' It's so pathetic.Laura Spencer is going to give a comic recitation, but I'd rathermake people cry than laugh."

"What will you recite if they encore you?"

"They won't dream of encoring me," scoffed Anne, who was notwithout her own secret hopes that they would, and alreadyvisioned herself telling Matthew all about it at the nextmorning's breakfast table. "There are Billy and Jane now--I hear the wheels. Come on."

Billy Andrews insisted that Anne should ride on the front seatwith him, so she unwillingly climbed up. She would have muchpreferred to sit back with the girls, where she could havelaughed and chattered to her heart's content. There was not muchof either laughter or chatter in Billy. He was a big, fat,stolid youth of twenty, with a round, expressionless face, and apainful lack of conversational gifts. But he admired Anneimmensely, and was puffed up with pride over the prospect ofdriving to White Sands with that slim, upright figure beside him.

Anne, by dint of talking over her shoulder to the girls andoccasionally passing a sop of civility to Billy--who grinned andchuckled and never could think of any reply until it was toolate--contrived to enjoy the drive in spite of all. It was anight for enjoyment. The road was full of buggies, all bound forthe hotel, and laughter, silver clear, echoed and reechoed along it.When they reached the hotel it was a blaze of light from topto bottom. They were met by the ladies of the concert committee,one of whom took Anne off to the performers' dressing room whichwas filled with the members of a Charlottetown Symphony Club,among whom Anne felt suddenly shy and frightened and countrified.Her dress, which, in the east gable, had seemed so dainty andpretty, now seemed simple and plain--too simple and plain, shethought, among all the silks and laces that glistened and rustledaround her. What were her pearl beads compared to the diamondsof the big, handsome lady near her? And how poor her one wee whiterose must look beside all the hothouse flowers the others wore!Anne laid her hat and jacket away, and shrank miserably into a corner.She wished herself back in the white room at Green Gables.

It was still worse on the platform of the big concert hall of thehotel, where she presently found herself. The electric lightsdazzled her eyes, the perfume and hum bewildered her. She wishedshe were sitting down in the audience with Diana and Jane, whoseemed to be having a splendid time away at the back. She waswedged in between a stout lady in pink silk and a tall,scornful-looking girl in a white-lace dress. The stout ladyoccasionally turned her head squarely around and surveyed Annethrough her eyeglasses until Anne, acutely sensitive of being soscrutinized, felt that she must scream aloud; and the white-lacegirl kept talking audibly to her next neighbor about the "countrybumpkins" and "rustic belles" in the audience, languidly anticipating"such fun" from the displays of local talent on the program.Anne believed that she would hate that white-lace girl to the end of life.

Unfortunately for Anne, a professional elocutionist was stayingat the hotel and had consented to recite. She was a lithe,dark-eyed woman in a wonderful gown of shimmering gray stufflike woven moonbeams, with gems on her neck and in her dark hair.She had a marvelously flexible voice and wonderful power ofexpression; the audience went wild over her selection. Anne,forgetting all about herself and her troubles for the time,listened with rapt and shining eyes; but when the recitationended she suddenly put her hands over her face. She could neverget up and recite after that--never. Had she ever thought shecould recite? Oh, if she were only back at Green Gables!

At this unpropitious moment her name was called. SomehowAnne--who did not notice the rather guilty little start ofsurprise the white-lace girl gave, and would not have understoodthe subtle compliment implied therein if she had--got on herfeet, and moved dizzily out to the front. She was so pale thatDiana and Jane, down in the audience, clasped each other's handsin nervous sympathy.

Anne was the victim of an overwhelming attack of stage fright.Often as she had recited in public, she had never before facedsuch an audience as this, and the sight of it paralyzed herenergies completely. Everything was so strange, so brilliant,so bewildering--the rows of ladies in evening dress, the criticalfaces, the whole atmosphere of wealth and culture about her.Very different this from the plain benches at the Debating Club,filled with the homely, sympathetic faces of friends and neighbors.These people, she thought, would be merciless critics. Perhaps,like the white-lace girl, they anticipated amusement from her "rustic"efforts. She felt hopelessly, helplessly ashamed and miserable.Her knees trembled, her heart fluttered, a horrible faintnesscame over her; not a word could she utter, and the next momentshe would have fled from the platform despite the humiliation which,she felt, must ever after be her portion if she did so.

But suddenly, as her dilated, frightened eyes gazed out over theaudience, she saw Gilbert Blythe away at the back of the room,bending forward with a smile on his face--a smile which seemed toAnne at once triumphant and taunting. In reality it was nothingof the kind. Gilbert was merely smiling with appreciation of thewhole affair in general and of the effect produced by Anne'sslender white form and spiritual face against a background ofpalms in particular. Josie Pye, whom he had driven over, satbeside him, and her face certainly was both triumphant andtaunting. But Anne did not see Josie, and would not have caredif she had. She drew a long breath and flung her head upproudly, courage and determination tingling over her like anelectric shock. She WOULD NOT fail before Gilbert Blythe--heshould never be able to laugh at her, never, never! Her frightand nervousness vanished; and she began her recitation, her clear,sweet voice reaching to the farthest corner of the room without atremor or a break. Self-possession was fully restored to her,and in the reaction from that horrible moment of powerlessnessshe recited as she had never done before. When she finishedthere were bursts of honest applause. Anne, stepping back toher seat, blushing with shyness and delight, found her handvigorously clasped and shaken by the stout lady in pink silk.

"My dear, you did splendidly," she puffed. "I've been cryinglike a baby, actually I have. There, they're encoring you--they're bound to have you back!"

"Oh, I can't go," said Anne confusedly. "But yet--I must, orMatthew will be disappointed. He said they would encore me."

"Then don't disappoint Matthew," said the pink lady, laughing.

Smiling, blushing, limpid eyed, Anne tripped back and gave a quaint,funny little selection that captivated her audience still further.The rest of the evening was quite a little triumph for her.

When the concert was over, the stout, pink lady--who was the wifeof an American millionaire--took her under her wing, andintroduced her to everybody; and everybody was very nice to her.The professional elocutionist, Mrs. Evans, came and chatted withher, telling her that she had a charming voice and "interpreted"her selections beautifully. Even the white-lace girl paid her alanguid little compliment. They had supper in the big,beautifully decorated dining room; Diana and Jane were invited topartake of this, also, since they had come with Anne, but Billywas nowhere to be found, having decamped in mortal fear of somesuch invitation. He was in waiting for them, with the team,however, when it was all over, and the three girls came merrilyout into the calm, white moonshine radiance. Anne breathed deeply,and looked into the clear sky beyond the dark boughs of the firs.

Oh, it was good to be out again in the purity and silence of the night!How great and still and wonderful everything was, with the murmur ofthe sea sounding through it and the darkling cliffs beyond like grimgiants guarding enchanted coasts.

"Hasn't it been a perfectly splendid time?" sighed Jane, as theydrove away. "I just wish I was a rich American and could spendmy summer at a hotel and wear jewels and low-necked dresses andhave ice cream and chicken salad every blessed day. I'm sure itwould be ever so much more fun than teaching school. Anne, yourrecitation was simply great, although I thought at first you werenever going to begin. I think it was better than Mrs. Evans's."

"Oh, no, don't say things like that, Jane," said Anne quickly,"because it sounds silly. It couldn't be better than Mrs. Evans's,you know, for she is a professional, and I'm only a schoolgirl,with a little knack of reciting. I'm quite satisfied if thepeople just liked mine pretty well."

"I've a compliment for you, Anne," said Diana. "At least I thinkit must be a compliment because of the tone he said it in. Partof it was anyhow. There was an American sitting behind Jane andme--such a romantic-looking man, with coal-black hair and eyes.Josie Pye says he is a distinguished artist, and that her mother'scousin in Boston is married to a man that used to go to schoolwith him. Well, we heard him say--didn't we, Jane?--`Who is thatgirl on the platform with the splendid Titian hair? She has aface I should like to paint.' There now, Anne. But what doesTitian hair mean?"

"Being interpreted it means plain red, I guess," laughed Anne."Titian was a very famous artist who liked to paint red-haired women."

"DID you see all the diamonds those ladies wore?" sighed Jane."They were simply dazzling. Wouldn't you just love to be rich, girls?"

"We ARE rich," said Anne staunchly. "Why, we have sixteen years toour credit, and we're happy as queens, and we've all got imaginations,more or less. Look at that sea, girls--all silver and shadow andvision of things not seen. We couldn't enjoy its lovelinessany more if we had millions of dollars and ropes of diamonds.You wouldn't change into any of those women if you could.Would you want to be that white-lace girl and wear a sourlook all your life, as if you'd been born turning up your nose atthe world? Or the pink lady, kind and nice as she is, so stoutand short that you'd really no figure at all? Or even Mrs. Evans,with that sad, sad look in her eyes? She must have been dreadfullyunhappy sometime to have such a look. You KNOW you wouldn't,Jane Andrews!"

"I DON'T know--exactly," said Jane unconvinced. "I thinkdiamonds would comfort a person for a good deal."

"Well, I don't want to be anyone but myself, even if Igo uncomforted by diamonds all my life," declared Anne."I'm quite content to be Anne of Green Gables, with mystring of pearl beads. I know Matthew gave me as muchlove with them as ever went with Madame the Pink Lady's jewels."

CHAPTER XXXIV

A Queen's Girl

The next three weeks were busy ones at Green Gables, forAnne was getting ready to go to Queen's, and there wasmuch sewing to be done, and many things to be talkedover and arranged. Anne's outfit was ample and pretty, forMatthew saw to that, and Marilla for once made no objectionswhatever to anything he purchased or suggested. More--one evening she went up to the east gable with her arms fullof a delicate pale green material.

"Anne, here's something for a nice light dress for you.I don't suppose you really need it; you've plenty ofpretty waists; but I thought maybe you'd like somethingreal dressy to wear if you were asked out anywhere of anevening in town, to a party or anything like that. I hearthat Jane and Ruby and Josie have got `evening dresses,' asthey call them, and I don't mean you shall be behind them.I got Mrs. Allan to help me pick it in town last week,and we'll get Emily Gillis to make it for you. Emilyhas got taste, and her fits aren't to be equaled."

"Oh, Marilla, it's just lovely," said Anne. "Thank you somuch. I don't believe you ought to be so kind to me--it'smaking it harder every day for me to go away."

The green dress was made up with as many tucks and frillsand shirrings as Emily's taste permitted. Anne put iton one evening for Matthew's and Marilla's benefit,and recited "The Maiden's Vow" for them in the kitchen.As Marilla watched the bright, animated face and gracefulmotions her thoughts went back to the evening Anne hadarrived at Green Gables, and memory recalled a vividpicture of the odd, frightened child in her preposterousyellowish-brown wincey dress, the heartbreak looking outof her tearful eyes. Something in the memory broughttears to Marilla's own eyes.

"I declare, my recitation has made you cry, Marilla,"said Anne gaily stooping over Marilla's chair to drop abutterfly kiss on that lady's cheek. "Now, I call that apositive triumph."

"No, I wasn't crying over your piece," said Marilla, whowould have scorned to be betrayed into such weakness byany poetry stuff. "I just couldn't help thinking of thelittle girl you used to be, Anne. And I was wishing you couldhave stayed a little girl, even with all your queer ways.You've grown up now and you're going away; and you lookso tall and stylish and so--so--different altogetherin that dress--as if you didn't belong in Avonlea at all--and I just got lonesome thinking it all over."

"Marilla!" Anne sat down on Marilla's gingham lap, tookMarilla's lined face between her hands, and looked gravelyand tenderly into Marilla's eyes. "I'm not a bit changed--not really. I'm only just pruned down and branched out.The real ME--back here--is just the same. It won't make abit of difference where I go or how much I change outwardly;at heart I shall always be your little Anne, who will loveyou and Matthew and dear Green Gables more and better everyday of her life."

Anne laid her fresh young cheek against Marilla's fadedone, and reached out a hand to pat Matthew's shoulder.Marilla would have given much just then to have possessedAnne's power of putting her feelings into words; but natureand habit had willed it otherwise, and she could only put herarms close about her girl and hold her tenderly to her heart,wishing that she need never let her go.

Matthew, with a suspicious moisture in his eyes, got upand went out-of-doors. Under the stars of the blue summernight he walked agitatedly across the yard to the gateunder the poplars.

"Well now, I guess she ain't been much spoiled," hemuttered, proudly. "I guess my putting in my oar occasionalnever did much harm after all. She's smart and pretty,and loving, too, which is better than all the rest.She's been a blessing to us, and there never was aluckier mistake than what Mrs. Spencer made--if it WAS luck.I don't believe it was any such thing. It was Providence,because the Almighty saw we needed her, I reckon."

The day finally came when Anne must go to town. Sheand Matthew drove in one fine September morning, after atearful parting with Diana and an untearful practical one--on Marilla's side at least--with Marilla. But when Annehad gone Diana dried her tears and went to a beachpicnic at White Sands with some of her Carmody cousins,where she contrived to enjoy herself tolerably well; whileMarilla plunged fiercely into unnecessary work and kept atit all day long with the bitterest kind of heartache--theache that burns and gnaws and cannot wash itself away inready tears. But that night, when Marilla went to bed,acutely and miserably conscious that the little gable roomat the end of the hall was untenanted by any vivid younglife and unstirred by any soft breathing, she buried herface in her pillow, and wept for her girl in a passion ofsobs that appalled her when she grew calm enough to reflecthow very wicked it must be to take on so about a sinfulfellow creature.

Anne and the rest of the Avonlea scholars reached townjust in time to hurry off to the Academy. That first daypassed pleasantly enough in a whirl of excitement, meetingall the new students, learning to know the professors bysight and being assorted and organized into classes.Anne intended taking up the Second Year work being advisedto do so by Miss Stacy; Gilbert Blythe elected to do the same.This meant getting a First Class teacher's license inone year instead of two, if they were successful; but it alsomeant much more and harder work. Jane, Ruby, Josie,Charlie, and Moody Spurgeon, not being troubled withthe stirrings of ambition, were content to take up theSecond Class work. Anne was conscious of a pang ofloneliness when she found herself in a room with fiftyother students, not one of whom she knew, except thetall, brown-haired boy across the room; and knowing himin the fashion she did, did not help her much, as shereflected pessimistically. Yet she was undeniably glad thatthey were in the same class; the old rivalry could still becarried on, and Anne would hardly have known what to doif it had been lacking.

"I wouldn't feel comfortable without it," she thought."Gilbert looks awfully determined. I suppose he's makingup his mind, here and now, to win the medal. What asplendid chin he has! I never noticed it before. I do wishJane and Ruby had gone in for First Class, too. I suppose Iwon't feel so much like a cat in a strange garret when I getacquainted, though. I wonder which of the girls here aregoing to be my friends. It's really an interesting speculation.Of course I promised Diana that no Queen's girl, no matterhow much I liked her, should ever be as dear to me as she is;but I've lots of second-best affections to bestow. I likethe look of that girl with the brown eyes and the crimsonwaist. She looks vivid and red-rosy; there's that pale, fairone gazing out of the window. She has lovely hair, and looksas if she knew a thing or two about dreams. I'd like to knowthem both--know them well--well enough to walk with my armabout their waists, and call them nicknames. But just now Idon't know them and they don't know me, and probably don'twant to know me particularly. Oh, it's lonesome!"

It was lonesomer still when Anne found herself alone inher hall bedroom that night at twilight. She was not toboard with the other girls, who all had relatives in town totake pity on them. Miss Josephine Barry would have likedto board her, but Beechwood was so far from the Academythat it was out of the question; so miss Barry hunted up aboarding-house, assuring Matthew and Marilla that it wasthe very place for Anne.

"The lady who keeps it is a reduced gentlewoman,"explained Miss Barry. "Her husband was a British officer,and she is very careful what sort of boarders she takes.Anne will not meet with any objectionable persons underher roof. The table is good, and the house is near theAcademy, in a quiet neighborhood."

All this might be quite true, and indeed, proved to be so,but it did not materially help Anne in the first agonyof homesickness that seized upon her. She looked dismallyabout her narrow little room, with its dull-papered,pictureless walls, its small iron bedstead and empty book-case; and a horrible choke came into her throat as shethought of her own white room at Green Gables, whereshe would have the pleasant consciousness of a great greenstill outdoors, of sweet peas growing in the garden, andmoonlight falling on the orchard, of the brook below theslope and the spruce boughs tossing in the night windbeyond it, of a vast starry sky, and the light from Diana'swindow shining out through the gap in the trees. Herethere was nothing of this; Anne knew that outside of herwindow was a hard street, with a network of telephonewires shutting out the sky, the tramp of alien feet, and athousand lights gleaming on stranger faces. She knew thatshe was going to cry, and fought against it.

"I WON'T cry. It's silly--and weak--there's the thirdtear splashing down by my nose. There are more coming!I must think of something funny to stop them. But there'snothing funny except what is connected with Avonlea, andthat only makes things worse--four--five--I'm going homenext Friday, but that seems a hundred years away. Oh,Matthew is nearly home by now--and Marilla is at thegate, looking down the lane for him--six--seven--eight--oh, there's no use in counting them! They're coming in aflood presently. I can't cheer up--I don't WANT to cheerup. It's nicer to be miserable!"

The flood of tears would have come, no doubt, had notJosie Pye appeared at that moment. In the joy of seeinga familiar face Anne forgot that there had never been muchlove lost between her and Josie. As a part of Avonlea lifeeven a Pye was welcome.

"I'm so glad you came up," Anne said sincerely.

"You've been crying," remarked Josie, with aggravating pity."I suppose you're homesick--some people have so littleself-control in that respect. I've no intention of beinghomesick, I can tell you. Town's too jolly after that pokyold Avonlea. I wonder how I ever existed there so long.You shouldn't cry, Anne; it isn't becoming, for yournose and eyes get red, and then you seem ALL red. I'd aperfectly scrumptious time in the Academy today. Our Frenchprofessor is simply a duck. His moustache would give youkerwollowps of the heart. Have you anything eatable around,Anne? I'm literally starving. Ah, I guessed likely Marilla'dload you up with cake. That's why I called round. OtherwiseI'd have gone to the park to hear the band play with FrankStockley. He boards same place as I do, and he's a sport.He noticed you in class today, and asked me who the red-headedgirl was. I told him you were an orphan that the Cuthbertshad adopted, and nobody knew very much about what you'd beenbefore that."

Anne was wondering if, after all, solitude and tears werenot more satisfactory than Josie Pye's companionship whenJane and Ruby appeared, each with an inch of Queen'scolor ribbon--purple and scarlet--pinned proudly to hercoat. As Josie was not "speaking" to Jane just then she hadto subside into comparative harmlessness.

"Well," said Jane with a sigh, "I feel as if I'd lived manymoons since the morning. I ought to be home studying myVirgil--that horrid old professor gave us twenty lines tostart in on tomorrow. But I simply couldn't settle down tostudy tonight. Anne, methinks I see the traces of tears. Ifyou've been crying DO own up. It will restore my self-respect,for I was shedding tears freely before Ruby came along. Idon't mind being a goose so much if somebody else is goosey,too. Cake? You'll give me a teeny piece, won't you? Thankyou. It has the real Avonlea flavor."

Ruby, perceiving the Queen's calendar lying on the table,wanted to know if Anne meant to try for the gold medal.

Anne blushed and admitted she was thinking of it.

"Oh, that reminds me," said Josie, "Queen's is to get oneof the Avery scholarships after all. The word came today.Frank Stockley told me--his uncle is one of the board ofgovernors, you know. It will be announced in theAcademy tomorrow."

An Avery scholarship! Anne felt her heart beat morequickly, and the horizons of her ambition shifted andbroadened as if by magic. Before Josie had told the newsAnne's highest pinnacle of aspiration had been a teacher'sprovincial license, First Class, at the end of the year, andperhaps the medal! But now in one moment Anne saw herselfwinning the Avery scholarship, taking an Arts course atRedmond College, and graduating in a gown and mortar board,before the echo of Josie's words had died away. For theAvery scholarship was in English, and Anne felt that hereher foot was on native heath.???

A wealthy manufacturer of New Brunswick had died and leftpart of his fortune to endow a large number of scholarshipsto be distributed among the various high schools and academiesof the Maritime Provinces, according to their respectivestandings. There had been much doubt whether one would beallotted to Queen's, but the matter was settled at last, andat the end of the year the graduate who made the highest markin English and English Literature would win the scholarship--two hundred and fifty dollars a year for four years at RedmondCollege. No wonder that Anne went to bed that night withtingling cheeks!

"I'll win that scholarship if hard work can do it," sheresolved. "Wouldn't Matthew be proud if I got to be a B.A.?Oh, it's delightful to have ambitions. I'm so glad I havesuch a lot. And there never seems to be any end to them--that's the best of it. Just as soon as you attain to oneambition you see another one glittering higher up still.It does make life so interesting."

CHAPTER XXXV

The Winter at Queen's

Anne's homesickness wore off, greatly helped in the wearingby her weekend visits home. As long as the open weather lastedthe Avonlea students went out to Carmody on the new branchrailway every Friday night. Diana and several other Avonleayoung folks were generally on hand to meet them and they allwalked over to Avonlea in a merry party. Anne thought thoseFriday evening gypsyings over the autumnal hills in the crispgolden air, with the homelights of Avonlea twinkling beyond,were the best and dearest hours in the whole week.

Gilbert Blythe nearly always walked with Ruby Gillis and carriedher satchel for her. Ruby was a very handsome young lady,now thinking herself quite as grown up as she really was;she wore her skirts as long as her mother would let her anddid her hair up in town, though she had to take it downwhen she went home. She had large, bright-blue eyes, abrilliant complexion, and a plump showy figure. She laugheda great deal, was cheerful and good-tempered, and enjoyed thepleasant things of life frankly.

"But I shouldn't think she was the sort of girl Gilbert would like,"whispered Jane to Anne. Anne did not think so either, but she wouldnot have said so for the Avery scholarship. She could not helpthinking, too, that it would be very pleasant to have such a friendas Gilbert to jest and chatter with and exchange ideas about booksand studies and ambitions. Gilbert had ambitions, she knew, andRuby Gillis did not seem the sort of person with whom such couldbe profitably discussed.

There was no silly sentiment in Anne's ideas concerning Gilbert.Boys were to her, when she thought about them at all, merelypossible good comrades. If she and Gilbert had been friendsshe would not have cared how many other friends he hadnor with whom he walked. She had a genius for friendship;girl friends she had in plenty; but she had a vague consciousnessthat masculine friendship might also be a good thing to roundout one's conceptions of companionship and furnish broaderstandpoints of judgment and comparison. Not that Anne couldhave put her feelings on the matter into just such clear definition.But she thought that if Gilbert had ever walked home with herfrom the train, over the crisp fields and along the ferny byways,they might have had many and merry and interesting conversationsabout the new world that was opening around them and their hopesand ambitions therein. Gilbert was a clever young fellow, withhis own thoughts about things and a determination to get the bestout of life and put the best into it. Ruby Gillis told Jane Andrewsthat she didn't understand half the things Gilbert Blythe said;he talked just like Anne Shirley did when she had a thoughtful fiton and for her part she didn't think it any fun to be bothering aboutbooks and that sort of thing when you didn't have to. Frank Stockleyhad lots more dash and go, but then he wasn't half as good-looking asGilbert and she really couldn't decide which she liked best!

In the Academy Anne gradually drew a little circle of friends about her,thoughtful, imaginative, ambitious students like herself. With the"rose-red" girl, Stella Maynard, and the "dream girl," Priscilla Grant,she soon became intimate, finding the latter pale spiritual-lookingmaiden to be full to the brim of mischief and pranks and fun,while the vivid, black-eyed Stella had a heartful of wistfuldreams and fancies, as aerial and rainbow-like as Anne's own.

After the Christmas holidays the Avonlea students gaveup going home on Fridays and settled down to hard work.By this time all the Queen's scholars had gravitated intotheir own places in the ranks and the various classes hadassumed distinct and settled shadings of individuality.Certain facts had become generally accepted. It was admittedthat the medal contestants had practically narrowed down tothree--Gilbert Blythe, Anne Shirley, and Lewis Wilson; theAvery scholarship was more doubtful, any one of a certain sixbeing a possible winner. The bronze medal for mathematicswas considered as good as won by a fat, funny little up-countryboy with a bumpy forehead and a patched coat.

Ruby Gillis was the handsomest girl of the year at the Academy;in the Second Year classes Stella Maynard carried off the palmfor beauty, with small but critical minority in favor of Anne Shirley.Ethel Marr was admitted by all competent judges to have the moststylish modes of hair-dressing, and Jane Andrews--plain, plodding,conscientious Jane--carried off the honors in the domestic science course.Even Josie Pye attained a certain preeminence as the sharpest-tongued young lady in attendance at Queen's. So it may befairly stated that Miss Stacy's old pupil's held their own inthe wider arena of the academical course.

Anne worked hard and steadily. Her rivalry with Gilbertwas as intense as it had ever been in Avonlea school,although it was not known in the class at large, but somehowthe bitterness had gone out of it. Anne no longer wishedto win for the sake of defeating Gilbert; rather, for theproud consciousness of a well-won victory over a worthy foeman.It would be worth while to win, but she no longer thought lifewould be insupportable if she did not.

In spite of lessons the students found opportunities forpleasant times. Anne spent many of her spare hours atBeechwood and generally ate her Sunday dinners there andwent to church with Miss Barry. The latter was, as sheadmitted, growing old, but her black eyes were not dim northe vigor of her tongue in the least abated. But she neversharpened the latter on Anne, who continued to be a primefavorite with the critical old lady.

"That Anne-girl improves all the time," she said. "I gettired of other girls--there is such a provoking and eternalsameness about them. Anne has as many shades as a rainbowand every shade is the prettiest while it lasts. I don'tknow that she is as amusing as she was when she was a child,but she makes me love her and I like people who make me love them.It saves me so much trouble in making myself love them."

Then, almost before anybody realized it, spring had come;out in Avonlea the Mayflowers were peeping pinkly outon the sere barrens where snow-wreaths lingered; andthe "mist of green" was on the woods and in the valleys.But in Charlottetown harassed Queen's students thoughtand talked only of examinations.

"It doesn't seem possible that the term is nearly over,"said Anne. "Why, last fall it seemed so long to lookforward to--a whole winter of studies and classes. And herewe are, with the exams looming up next week. Girls,sometimes I feel as if those exams meant everything, butwhen I look at the big buds swelling on those chestnut treesand the misty blue air at the end of the streets they don'tseem half so important."

Jane and Ruby and Josie, who had dropped in, did nottake this view of it. To them the coming examinationswere constantly very important indeed--far more importantthan chestnut buds or Maytime hazes. It was all very wellfor Anne, who was sure of passing at least, to have hermoments of belittling them, but when your whole futuredepended on them--as the girls truly thought theirs did--you could not regard them philosophically.

"I've lost seven pounds in the last two weeks," sighedJane. "It's no use to say don't worry. I WILL worry.Worrying helps you some--it seems as if you were doingsomething when you're worrying. It would be dreadful if Ifailed to get my license after going to Queen's all winterand spending so much money."

"_I_ don't care," said Josie Pye. "If I don't pass this yearI'm coming back next. My father can afford to send me.Anne, Frank Stockley says that Professor Tremaine saidGilbert Blythe was sure to get the medal and that Emily Claywould likely win the Avery scholarship."

"That may make me feel badly tomorrow, Josie," laughedAnne, "but just now I honestly feel that as long as I knowthe violets are coming out all purple down in the hollowbelow Green Gables and that little ferns are poking theirheads up in Lovers' Lane, it's not a great deal of differencewhether I win the Avery or not. I've done my best and Ibegin to understand what is meant by the `joy of the strife.'Next to trying and winning, the best thing is trying and failing.Girls, don't talk about exams! Look at that arch of pale greensky over those houses and picture to yourself what it must looklike over the purply-dark beech-woods back of Avonlea."

"What are you going to wear for commencement, Jane?"asked Ruby practically.

Jane and Josie both answered at once and the chatterdrifted into a side eddy of fashions. But Anne, with herelbows on the window sill, her soft cheek laid against herclasped hands, and her eyes filled with visions, looked outunheedingly across city roof and spire to that glorious domeof sunset sky and wove her dreams of a possible future fromthe golden tissue of youth's own optimism. All the Beyondwas hers with its possibilities lurking rosily in theoncoming years--each year a rose of promise to be woven intoan immortal chaplet.

CHAPTER XXXVI

The Glory and the Dream

On the morning when the final results of all the examina-tions were to be posted on the bulletin board at Queen's,Anne and Jane walked down the street together. Jane wassmiling and happy; examinations were over and she wascomfortably sure she had made a pass at least; furtherconsiderations troubled Jane not at all; she had no soaringambitions and consequently was not affected with theunrest attendant thereon. For we pay a price for everythingwe get or take in this world; and although ambitions arewell worth having, they are not to be cheaply won, butexact their dues of work and self-denial, anxiety anddiscouragement. Anne was pale and quiet; in ten more minutesshe would know who had won the medal and who the Avery.Beyond those ten minutes there did not seem, just then,to be anything worth being called Time.

"Of course you'll win one of them anyhow," said Jane,who couldn't understand how the faculty could be sounfair as to order it otherwise.

"I have not hope of the Avery," said Anne. "Everybodysays Emily Clay will win it. And I'm not going to marchup to that bulletin board and look at it before everybody.I haven't the moral courage. I'm going straight to the girls'dressing room. You must read the announcements and thencome and tell me, Jane. And I implore you in the nameof our old friendship to do it as quickly as possible.If I have failed just say so, without trying to break itgently; and whatever you do DON'T sympathize with me.Promise me this, Jane."

Jane promised solemnly; but, as it happened, there was nonecessity for such a promise. When they went up the entrancesteps of Queen's they found the hall full of boys who werecarrying Gilbert Blythe around on their shoulders and yellingat the tops of their voices, "Hurrah for Blythe, Medalist!"

For a moment Anne felt one sickening pang of defeat anddisappointment. So she had failed and Gilbert had won!Well, Matthew would be sorry--he had been so sure shewould win.

And then the girls were around them and Anne was thecenter of a laughing, congratulating group. Her shoulderswere thumped and her hands shaken vigorously. She waspushed and pulled and hugged and among it all she managedto whisper to Jane:

"Oh, won't Matthew and Marilla be pleased! I must write thenews home right away."

Commencement was the next important happening. The exerciseswere held in the big assembly hall of the Academy. Addresseswere given, essays read, songs sung, the public award of diplomas,prizes and medals made.

Matthew and Marilla were there, with eyes and ears for onlyone student on the platform--a tall girl in pale green,with faintly flushed cheeks and starry eyes, who read thebest essay and was pointed out and whispered about as theAvery winner.

"Reckon you're glad we kept her, Marilla?" whispered Matthew,speaking for the first time since he had entered the hall,when Anne had finished her essay.

"It's not the first time I've been glad," retorted Marilla."You do like to rub things in, Matthew Cuthbert."

Miss Barry, who was sitting behind them, leaned forwardand poked Marilla in the back with her parasol.

"Aren't you proud of that Anne-girl? I am," she said.

Anne went home to Avonlea with Matthew and Marillathat evening. She had not been home since April and shefelt that she could not wait another day. The apple blossomswere out and the world was fresh and young. Diana was atGreen Gables to meet her. In her own white room, whereMarilla had set a flowering house rose on the window sill,Anne looked about her and drew a long breath of happiness.

"Oh, Diana, it's so good to be back again. It's so good tosee those pointed firs coming out against the pink sky--and that white orchard and the old Snow Queen. Isn't thebreath of the mint delicious? And that tea rose--why, it'sa song and a hope and a prayer all in one. And it's GOOD tosee you again, Diana!"

"I thought you like that Stella Maynard better than me,"said Diana reproachfully. "Josie Pye told me you did.Josie said you were INFATUATED with her."

Anne laughed and pelted Diana with the faded "June lilies"of her bouquet.

"Stella Maynard is the dearest girl in the world exceptone and you are that one, Diana," she said. "I love youmore than ever--and I've so many things to tell you. Butjust now I feel as if it were joy enough to sit here andlook at you. I'm tired, I think--tired of being studiousand ambitious. I mean to spend at least two hours tomorrowlying out in the orchard grass, thinking of absolutely nothing."

"You've done splendidly, Anne. I suppose you won't be teachingnow that you've won the Avery?"

"No. I'm going to Redmond in September. Doesn't itseem wonderful? I'll have a brand new stock of ambitionlaid in by that time after three glorious, golden months ofvacation. Jane and Ruby are going to teach. Isn't it splendidto think we all got through even to Moody Spurgeon and Josie Pye?"

"The Newbridge trustees have offered Jane their school already,"said Diana. "Gilbert Blythe is going to teach, too. He has to.His father can't afford to send him to college next year, after all,so he means to earn his own way through. I expect he'll get theschool here if Miss Ames decides to leave."

Anne felt a queer little sensation of dismayed surprise.She had not known this; she had expected that Gilbertwould be going to Redmond also. What would she do withouttheir inspiring rivalry? Would not work, even at acoeducational college with a real degree in prospect, berather flat without her friend the enemy?

The next morning at breakfast it suddenly struck Annethat Matthew was not looking well. Surely he was muchgrayer than he had been a year before.

"Marilla," she said hesitatingly when he had gone out,"is Matthew quite well?"

"No, he isn't," said Marilla in a troubled tone. "He'shad some real bad spells with his heart this spring and hewon't spare himself a mite. I've been real worried abouthim, but he's some better this while back and we've got agood hired man, so I'm hoping he'll kind of rest and pick up.Maybe he will now you're home. You always cheer him up."

Anne leaned across the table and took Marilla's face inher hands.

"You are not looking as well yourself as I'd like to seeyou, Marilla. You look tired. I'm afraid you've beenworking too hard. You must take a rest, now that I'm home.I'm just going to take this one day off to visit all the dearold spots and hunt up my old dreams, and then it will beyour turn to be lazy while I do the work."

Marilla smiled affectionately at her girl.

"It's not the work--it's my head. I've got a pain so oftennow--behind my eyes. Doctor Spencer's been fussing withglasses, but they don't do me any good. There is a distin-guished oculist coming to the Island the last of June andthe doctor says I must see him. I guess I'll have to.I can't read or sew with any comfort now. Well, Anne, you'vedone real well at Queen's I must say. To take First ClassLicense in one year and win the Avery scholarship--well,well, Mrs. Lynde says pride goes before a fall and shedoesn't believe in the higher education of women at all;she says it unfits them for woman's true sphere. I don'tbelieve a word of it. Speaking of Rachel reminds me--didyou hear anything about the Abbey Bank lately, Anne?"

"I heard it was shaky," answered Anne. "Why?"

"That is what Rachel said. She was up here one day lastweek and said there was some talk about it. Matthew feltreal worried. All we have saved is in that bank--everypenny. I wanted Matthew to put it in the Savings Bank inthe first place, but old Mr. Abbey was a great friend offather's and he'd always banked with him. Matthew said anybank with him at the head of it was good enough for anybody."

"I think he has only been its nominal head for manyyears," said Anne. "He is a very old man; his nephewsare really at the head of the institution."

"Well, when Rachel told us that, I wanted Matthew to drawour money right out and he said he'd think of it. ButMr. Russell told him yesterday that the bank was all right."

Anne had her good day in the companionship of the outdoor world.She never forgot that day; it was so bright and golden and fair,so free from shadow and so lavish of blossom. Anne spent someof its rich hours in the orchard; she went to the Dryad's Bubbleand Willowmere and Violet Vale; she called at the manse and hada satisfying talk with Mrs. Allan; and finally in the eveningshe went with Matthew for the cows, through Lovers' Lane to theback pasture. The woods were all gloried through with sunsetand the warm splendor of it streamed down through the hill gapsin the west. Matthew walked slowly with bent head; Anne, talland erect, suited her springing step to his.

"You've been working too hard today, Matthew," she saidreproachfully. "Why won't you take things easier?"

"Well now, I can't seem to," said Matthew, as he openedthe yard gate to let the cows through. "It's only that I'mgetting old, Anne, and keep forgetting it. Well, well, I'vealways worked pretty hard and I'd rather drop in harness."

"If I had been the boy you sent for," said Anne wistfully,"I'd be able to help you so much now and spare you in ahundred ways. I could find it in my heart to wish I hadbeen, just for that."

"Well now, I'd rather have you than a dozen boys, Anne,"said Matthew patting her hand. "Just mind you that--rather than a dozen boys. Well now, I guess it wasn'ta boy that took the Avery scholarship, was it? It wasa girl--my girl--my girl that I'm proud of."

He smiled his shy smile at her as he went into the yard.Anne took the memory of it with her when she went to herroom that night and sat for a long while at her open window,thinking of the past and dreaming of the future.Outside the Snow Queen was mistily white in the moonshine;the frogs were singing in the marsh beyond Orchard Slope.Anne always remembered the silvery, peaceful beauty andfragrant calm of that night. It was the last night beforesorrow touched her life; and no life is ever quite the sameagain when once that cold, sanctifying touch has been laid upon it.

CHAPTER XXXVII

The Reaper Whose Name Is Death

"Matthew--Matthew--what is the matter? Matthew, are you sick?"

It was Marilla who spoke, alarm in every jerky word. Annecame through the hall, her hands full of white narcissus,--itwas long before Anne could love the sight or odor of whitenarcissus again,--in time to hear her and to see Matthewstanding in the porch doorway, a folded paper in his hand,and his face strangely drawn and gray. Anne dropped her flowersand sprang across the kitchen to him at the same moment asMarilla. They were both too late; before they could reach himMatthew had fallen across the threshold.

"He's fainted," gasped Marilla. "Anne, run for Martin--quick, quick! He's at the barn."

Martin, the hired man, who had just driven home fromthe post office, started at once for the doctor, calling atOrchard Slope on his way to send Mr. and Mrs. Barry over.Mrs. Lynde, who was there on an errand, came too. Theyfound Anne and Marilla distractedly trying to restoreMatthew to consciousness.

Mrs. Lynde pushed them gently aside, tried his pulse,and then laid her ear over his heart. She looked at theiranxious faces sorrowfully and the tears came into her eyes.

"Oh, Marilla," she said gravely. "I don't think--we can doanything for him."

"Child, yes, I'm afraid of it. Look at his face. When you'veseen that look as often as I have you'll know what it means."

Anne looked at the still face and there beheld the seal ofthe Great Presence.

When the doctor came he said that death had been instantaneousand probably painless, caused in all likelihood by some sudden shock.The secret of the shock was discovered to be in the paper Matthewhad held and which Martin had brought from the office that morning.It contained an account of the failure of the Abbey Bank.

The news spread quickly through Avonlea, and all dayfriends and neighbors thronged Green Gables and cameand went on errands of kindness for the dead and living.For the first time shy, quiet Matthew Cuthbert was aperson of central importance; the white majesty of deathhad fallen on him and set him apart as one crowned.

When the calm night came softly down over Green Gablesthe old house was hushed and tranquil. In the parlor layMatthew Cuthbert in his coffin, his long gray hair framinghis placid face on which there was a little kindly smileas if he but slept, dreaming pleasant dreams. There wereflowers about him--sweet old-fashioned flowers which his motherhad planted in the homestead garden in her bridal days andfor which Matthew had always had a secret, wordless love.Anne had gathered them and brought them to him, her anguished,tearless eyes burning in her white face. It was the last thingshe could do for him.

The Barrys and Mrs. Lynde stayed with them that night.Diana, going to the east gable, where Anne was standingat her window, said gently:

"Anne dear, would you like to have me sleep with you tonight?"

"Thank you, Diana." Anne looked earnestly into her friend's face."I think you won't misunderstand me when I say I want to be alone.I'm not afraid. I haven't been alone one minute since it happened--and I want to be. I want to be quite silent and quiet and try torealize it. I can't realize it. Half the time it seems to me thatMatthew can't be dead; and the other half it seems as if he musthave been dead for a long time and I've had this horribledull ache ever since."

Diana did not quite understand. Marilla's impassioned grief,breaking all the bounds of natural reserve and lifelong habitin its stormy rush, she could comprehend better than Anne'stearless agony. But she went away kindly, leaving Anne aloneto keep her first vigil with sorrow.

Anne hoped that the tears would come in solitude. It seemedto her a terrible thing that she could not shed a tear forMatthew, whom she had loved so much and who had beenso kind to her, Matthew who had walked with her lastevening at sunset and was now lying in the dim roombelow with that awful peace on his brow. But no tearscame at first, even when she knelt by her window in thedarkness and prayed, looking up to the stars beyond thehills--no tears, only the same horrible dull ache ofmisery that kept on aching until she fell asleep,worn out with the day's pain and excitement.

In the night she awakened, with the stillness and thedarkness about her, and the recollection of the day cameover her like a wave of sorrow. She could see Matthew'sface smiling at her as he had smiled when they parted atthe gate that last evening--she could hear his voice saying,"My girl--my girl that I'm proud of." Then the tears cameand Anne wept her heart out. Marilla heard her and creptin to comfort her.

"There--there--don't cry so, dearie. It can't bring him back.It--it--isn't right to cry so. I knew that today, but Icouldn't help it then. He'd always been such a good,kind brother to me--but God knows best."

"Oh, just let me cry, Marilla," sobbed Anne. "The tearsdon't hurt me like that ache did. Stay here for a littlewhile with me and keep your arm round me--so. I couldn'thave Diana stay, she's good and kind and sweet--but it'snot her sorrow--she's outside of it and she couldn't comeclose enough to my heart to help me. It's our sorrow--yours and mine. Oh, Marilla, what will we do without him?"

"We've got each other, Anne. I don't know what I'd doif you weren't here--if you'd never come. Oh, Anne, Iknow I've been kind of strict and harsh with you maybe--but you mustn't think I didn't love you as well as Matthewdid, for all that. I want to tell you now when I can. It'snever been easy for me to say things out of my heart, butat times like this it's easier. I love you as dear as ifyou were my own flesh and blood and you've been my joy andcomfort ever since you came to Green Gables."

Two days afterwards they carried Matthew Cuthbertover his homestead threshold and away from the fields hehad tilled and the orchards he had loved and the trees hehad planted; and then Avonlea settled back to its usualplacidity and even at Green Gables affairs slipped intotheir old groove and work was done and duties fulfilledwith regularity as before, although always with the achingsense of "loss in all familiar things." Anne, new to grief,thought it almost sad that it could be so--that they COULDgo on in the old way without Matthew. She felt somethinglike shame and remorse when she discovered that thesunrises behind the firs and the pale pink buds opening inthe garden gave her the old inrush of gladness when shesaw them--that Diana's visits were pleasant to her andthat Diana's merry words and ways moved her to laughterand smiles--that, in brief, the beautiful world of blossomand love and friendship had lost none of its power toplease her fancy and thrill her heart, that life stillcalled to her with many insistent voices.

"It seems like disloyalty to Matthew, somehow, to findpleasure in these things now that he has gone," she saidwistfully to Mrs. Allan one evening when they were togetherin the manse garden. "I miss him so much--all the time--and yet, Mrs. Allan, the world and life seem very beautifuland interesting to me for all. Today Diana said somethingfunny and I found myself laughing. I thought when ithappened I could never laugh again. And it somehow seemsas if I oughtn't to."

"When Matthew was here he liked to hear you laughand he liked to know that you found pleasure in thepleasant things around you," said Mrs. Allan gently."He is just away now; and he likes to know it just the same.I am sure we should not shut our hearts against the healinginfluences that nature offers us. But I can understandyour feeling. I think we all experience the same thing.We resent the thought that anything can please us when someonewe love is no longer here to share the pleasure with us,and we almost feel as if we were unfaithful to our sorrowwhen we find our interest in life returning to us."

"I was down to the graveyard to plant a rosebush onMatthew's grave this afternoon," said Anne dreamily."I took a slip of the little white Scotch rosebush hismother brought out from Scotland long ago; Matthew alwaysliked those roses the best--they were so small and sweet ontheir thorny stems. It made me feel glad that I could plantit by his grave--as if I were doing something that must pleasehim in taking it there to be near him. I hope he has roseslike them in heaven. Perhaps the souls of all those littlewhite roses that he has loved so many summers were all thereto meet him. I must go home now. Marilla is all alone andshe gets lonely at twilight."

"She will be lonelier still, I fear, when you go away againto college," said Mrs. Allan.

Anne did not reply; she said good night and went slowlyback to green Gables. Marilla was sitting on the frontdoor-steps and Anne sat down beside her. The door wasopen behind them, held back by a big pink conch shellwith hints of sea sunsets in its smooth inner convolutions.

Anne gathered some sprays of pale-yellow honeysuckle and putthem in her hair. She liked the delicious hint of fragrance,as some aerial benediction, above her every time she moved.

"Doctor Spencer was here while you were away," Marilla said."He says that the specialist will be in town tomorrowand he insists that I must go in and have my eyes examined.I suppose I'd better go and have it over. I'll be morethan thankful if the man can give me the right kind ofglasses to suit my eyes. You won't mind staying here alonewhile I'm away, will you? Martin will have to drive me inand there's ironing and baking to do."

"I shall be all right. Diana will come over for companyfor me. I shall attend to the ironing and baking beautifully--you needn't fear that I'll starch the handkerchiefs or flavorthe cake with liniment."

Marilla laughed.

"What a girl you were for making mistakes in them days, Anne.You were always getting into scrapes. I did use to think youwere possessed. Do you mind the time you dyed your hair?"

"Yes, indeed. I shall never forget it," smiled Anne,touching the heavy braid of hair that was wound about hershapely head. "I laugh a little now sometimes when Ithink what a worry my hair used to be to me--but I don'tlaugh MUCH, because it was a very real trouble then.I did suffer terribly over my hair and my freckles.My freckles are really gone; and people are nice enoughto tell me my hair is auburn now--all but Josie Pye.She informed me yesterday that she really thought itwas redder than ever, or at least my black dress madeit look redder, and she asked me if people who had redhair ever got used to having it. Marilla, I've almostdecided to give up trying to like Josie Pye. I've madewhat I would once have called a heroic effort to like her,but Josie Pye won't BE liked."

"Josie is a Pye," said Marilla sharply, "so she can't helpbeing disagreeable. I suppose people of that kind servesome useful purpose in society, but I must say I don'tknow what it is any more than I know the use of thistles.Is Josie going to teach?"

"No, she is going back to Queen's next year. So areMoody Spurgeon and Charlie Sloane. Jane and Ruby aregoing to teach and they have both got schools--Jane atNewbridge and Ruby at some place up west."

"Gilbert Blythe is going to teach too, isn't he?"

"Yes"--briefly.

"What a nice-looking fellow he is," said Marilla absently."I saw him in church last Sunday and he seemed so tall and manly.He looks a lot like his father did at the same age. John Blythewas a nice boy. We used to be real good friends, he and I.People called him my beau."

Anne looked up with swift interest.

"Oh, Marilla--and what happened?--why didn't you--"

"We had a quarrel. I wouldn't forgive him when he asked me to.I meant to, after awhile--but I was sulky and angry and I wantedto punish him first. He never came back--the Blythes were allmighty independent. But I always felt--rather sorry. I've alwayskind of wished I'd forgiven him when I had the chance."

"So you've had a bit of romance in your life, too," said Anne softly.

"Yes, I suppose you might call it that. You wouldn't think soto look at me, would you? But you never can tell about peoplefrom their outsides. Everybody has forgot about me and John.I'd forgotten myself. But it all came back to me when I sawGilbert last Sunday."

CHAPTER XXXVIII

The Bend in the road

Marilla went to town the next day and returned in theevening. Anne had gone over to Orchard Slope with Dianaand came back to find Marilla in the kitchen, sittingby the table with her head leaning on her hand. Somethingin her dejected attitude struck a chill to Anne's heart.She had never seen Marilla sit limply inert like that.

"Are you very tired, Marilla?"

"Yes--no--I don't know," said Marilla wearily, lookingup. "I suppose I am tired but I haven't thought about it.It's not that."

"Did you see the oculist? What did he say?" asked Anneanxiously.

"Yes, I saw him. He examined my eyes. He says that ifI give up all reading and sewing entirely and any kind ofwork that strains the eyes, and if I'm careful not to cry,and if I wear the glasses he's given me he thinks my eyesmay not get any worse and my headaches will be cured. Butif I don't he says I'll certainly be stone-blind in sixmonths. Blind! Anne, just think of it!"

For a minute Anne, after her first quick exclamation ofdismay, was silent. It seemed to her that she could NOTspeak. Then she said bravely, but with a catch in her voice:

"Marilla, DON'T think of it. You know he has given you hope.If you are careful you won't lose your sight altogether;and if his glasses cure your headaches it will be a great thing."

"I don't call it much hope," said Marilla bitterly. "Whatam I to live for if I can't read or sew or do anything likethat? I might as well be blind--or dead. And as for crying,I can't help that when I get lonesome. But there, it's nogood talking about it. If you'll get me a cup of tea I'll bethankful. I'm about done out. Don't say anything about thisto any one for a spell yet, anyway. I can't bear that folksshould come here to question and sympathize and talk about it."

When Marilla had eaten her lunch Anne persuaded her to goto bed. Then Anne went herself to the east gable and satdown by her window in the darkness alone with her tearsand her heaviness of heart. How sadly things had changedsince she had sat there the night after coming home! Thenshe had been full of hope and joy and the future had lookedrosy with promise. Anne felt as if she had lived yearssince then, but before she went to bed there was a smile onher lips and peace in her heart. She had looked her dutycourageously in the face and found it a friend--as duty everis when we meet it frankly.

One afternoon a few days later Marilla came slowly infrom the front yard where she had been talking to a caller--a man whom Anne knew by sight as Sadler from Carmody.Anne wondered what he could have been saying to bring thatlook to Marilla's face.

"What did Mr. Sadler want, Marilla?"

Marilla sat down by the window and looked at Anne.There were tears in her eyes in defiance of the oculist'sprohibition and her voice broke as she said:

"He heard that I was going to sell Green Gables andhe wants to buy it."

"Anne, I don't know what else is to be done. I've thoughtit all over. If my eyes were strong I could stay hereand make out to look after things and manage, with a goodhired man. But as it is I can't. I may lose my sightaltogether; and anyway I'll not be fit to run things.Oh, I never thought I'd live to see the day when I'd haveto sell my home. But things would only go behind worse andworse all the time, till nobody would want to buy it.Every cent of our money went in that bank; and there'ssome notes Matthew gave last fall to pay. Mrs. Lyndeadvises me to sell the farm and board somewhere--withher I suppose. It won't bring much--it's small and thebuildings are old. But it'll be enough for me to live onI reckon. I'm thankful you're provided for with thatscholarship, Anne. I'm sorry you won't have a home tocome to in your vacations, that's all, but I suppose you'llmanage somehow."

Marilla broke down and wept bitterly.

"You mustn't sell Green Gables," said Anne resolutely.

"Oh, Anne, I wish I didn't have to. But you can see for yourself.I can't stay here alone. I'd go crazy with trouble and loneliness.And my sight would go--I know it would."

"You won't have to stay here alone, Marilla. I'll be with you.I'm not going to Redmond."

"Not going to Redmond!" Marilla lifted her worn facefrom her hands and looked at Anne. "Why, what do you mean?"

"Just what I say. I'm not going to take the scholarship.I decided so the night after you came home from town. Yousurely don't think I could leave you alone in your trouble,Marilla, after all you've done for me. I've been thinkingand planning. Let me tell you my plans. Mr. Barry wantsto rent the farm for next year. So you won't have anybother over that. And I'm going to teach. I've appliedfor the school here--but I don't expect to get it for Iunderstand the trustees have promised it to Gilbert Blythe.But I can have the Carmody school--Mr. Blair told me so lastnight at the store. Of course that won't be quite as niceor convenient as if I had the Avonlea school. But I can boardhome and drive myself over to Carmody and back, in thewarm weather at least. And even in winter I can come homeFridays. We'll keep a horse for that. Oh, I have it allplanned out, Marilla. And I'll read to you and keep youcheered up. You sha'n't be dull or lonesome. And we'll bereal cozy and happy here together, you and I."

Marilla had listened like a woman in a dream.

"Oh, Anne, I could get on real well if you were here, I know.But I can't let you sacrifice yourself so for me. It would be terrible."

"Nonsense!" Anne laughed merrily. "There is no sacrifice.Nothing could be worse than giving up Green Gables--nothingcould hurt me more. We must keep the dear old place.My mind is quite made up, Marilla. I'm NOT goingto Redmond; and I AM going to stay here and teach.Don't you worry about me a bit."

"But your ambitions--and--"

"I'm just as ambitious as ever. Only, I've changed theobject of my ambitions. I'm going to be a good teacher--and I'm going to save your eyesight. Besides, I mean to studyat home here and take a little college course all by myself.Oh, I've dozens of plans, Marilla. I've been thinking themout for a week. I shall give life here my best, and I believeit will give its best to me in return. When I left Queen'smy future seemed to stretch out before me like a straight road.I thought I could see along it for many a milestone. Now thereis a bend in it. I don't know what lies around the bend,but I'm going to believe that the best does. It has afascination of its own, that bend, Marilla. I wonder howthe road beyond it goes--what there is of green glory and soft,checkered light and shadows--what new landscapes--what newbeauties--what curves and hills and valleys further on."

"I don't feel as if I ought to let you give it up," said Marilla,referring to the scholarship.

"But you can't prevent me. I'm sixteen and a half, `obstinateas a mule,' as Mrs. Lynde once told me," laughed Anne."Oh, Marilla, don't you go pitying me. I don't liketo be pitied, and there is no need for it. I'm heart gladover the very thought of staying at dear Green Gables.Nobody could love it as you and I do--so we must keep it."

"You blessed girl!" said Marilla, yielding. "I feel as ifyou'd given me new life. I guess I ought to stick out andmake you go to college--but I know I can't, so I ain'tgoing to try. I'll make it up to you though, Anne."

When it became noised abroad in Avonlea that AnneShirley had given up the idea of going to college andintended to stay home and teach there was a good deal ofdiscussion over it. Most of the good folks, not knowingabout Marilla's eyes, thought she was foolish. Mrs. Allandid not. She told Anne so in approving words that broughttears of pleasure to the girl's eyes. Neither did goodMrs. Lynde. She came up one evening and found Anne and Marillasitting at the front door in the warm, scented summer dusk.They liked to sit there when the twilight came down and thewhite moths flew about in the garden and the odor of mintfilled the dewy air.

Mrs. Rachel deposited her substantial person upon thestone bench by the door, behind which grew a row of tallpink and yellow hollyhocks, with a long breath of mingledweariness and relief.

"I declare I'm getting glad to sit down. I've been on my feetall day, and two hundred pounds is a good bit for two feet tocarry round. It's a great blessing not to be fat, Marilla.I hope you appreciate it. Well, Anne, I hear you've given upyour notion of going to college. I was real glad to hear it.You've got as much education now as a woman can be comfortablewith. I don't believe in girls going to college with the men andcramming their heads full of Latin and Greek and all that nonsense."

"But I'm going to study Latin and Greek just the same,Mrs. Lynde," said Anne laughing. "I'm going to take myArts course right here at Green Gables, and study everythingthat I would at college."

Mrs. Lynde lifted her hands in holy horror.

"Anne Shirley, you'll kill yourself."

"Not a bit of it. I shall thrive on it. Oh, I'm not goingto overdo things. As `Josiah Allen's wife,' says, I shallbe `mejum'. But I'll have lots of spare time in the longwinter evenings, and I've no vocation for fancy work.I'm going to teach over at Carmody, you know."

"I don't know it. I guess you're going to teach right herein Avonlea. The trustees have decided to give you the school."

"Mrs. Lynde!" cried Anne, springing to her feet in her surprise."Why, I thought they had promised it to Gilbert Blythe!"

"So they did. But as soon as Gilbert heard that you hadapplied for it he went to them--they had a business meetingat the school last night, you know--and told them that hewithdrew his application, and suggested that they accept yours.He said he was going to teach at White Sands. Of course heknew how much you wanted to stay with Marilla, and I must sayI think it was real kind and thoughtful in him, that's what.Real self-sacrificing, too, for he'll have his board to payat White Sands, and everybody knows he's got to earn his ownway through college. So the trustees decided to take you.I was tickled to death when Thomas came home and told me."

"I don't feel that I ought to take it," murmured Anne."I mean--I don't think I ought to let Gilbert make such a sacrifice for--for me."

"I guess you can't prevent him now. He's signed papers withthe White Sands trustees. So it wouldn't do him any good nowif you were to refuse. Of course you'll take the school.You'll get along all right, now that there are no Pyes going.Josie was the last of them, and a good thing she was, that's what.There's been some Pye or other going to Avonlea school for thelast twenty years, and I guess their mission in life was tokeep school teachers reminded that earth isn't their home.Bless my heart! What does all that winking and blinkingat the Barry gable mean?"

"Diana is signaling for me to go over," laughed Anne."You know we keep up the old custom. Excuse me while Irun over and see what she wants."

Anne ran down the clover slope like a deer, and disappearedin the firry shadows of the Haunted Wood. Mrs. Lynde lookedafter her indulgently.

"There's a good deal of the child about her yet in some ways."

"There's a good deal more of the woman about her in others,"retorted Marilla, with a momentary return of her old crispness.

But crispness was no longer Marilla's distinguishingcharacteristic. As Mrs. Lynde told her Thomas that night.

"Marilla Cuthbert has got MELLOW. That's what."

Anne went to the little Avonlea graveyard the nextevening to put fresh flowers on Matthew's grave and waterthe Scotch rosebush. She lingered there until dusk, likingthe peace and calm of the little place, with its poplarswhose rustle was like low, friendly speech, and itswhispering grasses growing at will among the graves.When she finally left it and walked down the long hill thatsloped to the Lake of Shining Waters it was past sunset andall Avonlea lay before her in a dreamlike afterlight--"a haunt of ancient peace." There was a freshness in the airas of a wind that had blown over honey-sweet fields of clover.Home lights twinkled out here and there among the homesteadtrees. Beyond lay the sea, misty and purple, with itshaunting, unceasing murmur. The west was a glory of softmingled hues, and the pond reflected them all in stillsofter shadings. The beauty of it all thrilled Anne's heart,and she gratefully opened the gates of her soul to it.

"Dear old world," she murmured, "you are very lovely,and I am glad to be alive in you."

Halfway down the hill a tall lad came whistling out of agate before the Blythe homestead. It was Gilbert, and thewhistle died on his lips as he recognized Anne. He liftedhis cap courteously, but he would have passed on insilence, if Anne had not stopped and held out her hand.

"Gilbert," she said, with scarlet cheeks, "I want tothank you for giving up the school for me. It was verygood of you--and I want you to know that I appreciate it."

Gilbert took the offered hand eagerly.

"It wasn't particularly good of me at all, Anne. I waspleased to be able to do you some small service. Are wegoing to be friends after this? Have you really forgivenme my old fault?"

Anne laughed and tried unsuccessfully to withdraw her hand.

"I forgave you that day by the pond landing, althoughI didn't know it. What a stubborn little goose I was.I've been--I may as well make a complete confession--I'vebeen sorry ever since."

"We are going to be the best of friends," said Gilbert,jubilantly. "We were born to be good friends, Anne.You've thwarted destiny enough. I know we can help eachother in many ways. You are going to keep up your studies,aren't you? So am I. Come, I'm going to walk home with you."

"I didn't think you and Gilbert Blythe were such goodfriends that you'd stand for half an hour at the gatetalking to him," said Marilla with a dry smile.

"We haven't been--we've been good enemies. But wehave decided that it will be much more sensible to begood friends in the future. Were we really there half anhour? It seemed just a few minutes. But, you see, we havefive years' lost conversations to catch up with, Marilla."

Anne sat long at her window that night companioned bya glad content. The wind purred softly in the cherryboughs, and the mint breaths came up to her. The starstwinkled over the pointed firs in the hollow and Diana'slight gleamed through the old gap.

Anne's horizons had closed in since the night she hadsat there after coming home from Queen's; but if the pathset before her feet was to be narrow she knew that flowersof quiet happiness would bloom along it. The joy ofsincere work and worthy aspiration and congenial friendshipwere to be hers; nothing could rob her of her birthrightof fancy or her ideal world of dreams. And there was alwaysthe bend in the road!

"`God's in his heaven, all's right with the world,'"whispered Anne softly.